At the Holt mansion, seated in his imposing chair at the dining table, Frederick maintained an upright posture despite his advanced age and the illness slowly draining his strength. His eyes, which were still sharp, commanded the room. At his side, his wife Ophelia watched him closely, the quiet concern of maturity etched into her calm expression.

Farther down the table, Philip—Frederick's son—and his wife Erica, Liam's stepmother, exchanged silent, knowing looks.

Once everyone was seated, Frederick lifted his wineglass, but he didn't toast. His deep voice echoed through the dining hall, unforgiving.

"To my future great-grandson," he announced, letting the weight of his words linger. "Liam needs to get married. And soon."

Ophelia was the first to react. She leaned forward slightly, distress clear on her face.

"Frederick, you can't demand this of our grandson," she said gently, though pain laced her voice. "He has the right to make his own choices. You know that since he was a child, he's always said he didn't want marriage."

The patriarch rested his trembling hand on the table, his knuckles whitening, yet his voice remained firm.

"I don't care," he replied coldly. "The Holt inheritance requires legitimate continuity. For it to be validated, Liam knows he must marry and have an heir with his own wife. The marriage must last at least one year."

Ophelia sighed, disappointed, lowering her gaze to her wineglass as if she couldn't bear the rigidity of it all.

"You're trapping his life in rules…"

"They're not rules," Frederick snapped, his tone sharp as a verdict. "They're conditions. If Liam doesn't comply, everything goes to his cousin."

Philip adjusted his jacket and leaned forward, seizing the moment.

"It's fair," he said firmly, as if he'd rehearsed the line. "After all, it's the life Liam chose for himself."

Erica added smoothly, a cold half-smile on her lips, her honeyed voice masking the venom beneath.

"Liam needs to understand this isn't just about him."

Ophelia shot her daughter-in-law a disapproving look, her eyes glistening.

"You talk about money, but you forget we're talking about a person's life. Charles is your grandson too. Albert is your son as well, Frederick."

The tension thickened the air, until the sound of steady footsteps echoed down the hallway. Liam appeared in the doorway with travel fatigue etched across his face, yet he carried the same commanding presence of someone used to being watched and judged.

Silence fell instantly. All eyes turned to him.

"Looks like I walked in on a trial," he said, his voice rough, edged with irony.

Erica forced a smile, trying to hide her discomfort.

"We were just talking about the future, Liam."

He narrowed his eyes, a short, disbelieving laugh escaping him.

"Talking?" He stepped closer to the table, resting his hands on the back of a chair, his gaze locked on her. "I'd call it something else."

Frederick slammed his hand on the table, the sharp sound cutting through the room.

"Sit down. I need to speak with you."

Liam obeyed, pulling out the chair with deliberate calm.

Frederick didn't waste time. His eyes burned with authority.

"You know that for your inheritance to be validated and for you to remain in control of the companies, you must marry. And give me a great-grandson."

Liam let out a short, bitter laugh, leaning back in his chair.

"Again with this, Grandpa?" His voice carried a painful sarcasm. "I never wanted that. And I'm not going to want it now. I'm perfectly fine with the life I have."

Philip stepped in, his voice authoritative—but tinged with tension.

"It's not about what you want, Liam. It's about duty."

Liam turned to him, his gaze sharp, old resentment spilling over.

"Duty? Who are you to talk about duty, Philip? You were never exactly a great example of a father. Or a husband."

Philip shot to his feet, furious, his face turning red.

"Show some respect!"

Liam stared back without blinking, his lips curling into a bitter smile.

"Respect is earned. And you never gave me a single reason to respect you."

Erica decided to step in, leaning over the table, her voice sweet like poison.

"Liam, think about everything you'll lose. The luxury. The privileges. The trips…"

He turned slowly toward her, his anger cutting through every word.

"Afraid of losing your comfortable life?" His irony was sharp. "Deep down, you know the empire my grandfather built isn't going anywhere, unlike your husband's career. It's about time you got a job, Erica."

The impact was immediate. Her smile vanished and the mask fell. Ophelia pressed a hand to her chest in shock, while Philip stepped forward, outraged.

"That's enough, Liam!" he shouted. "You've been holding onto this hatred for years! It's been long enough! Life goes on!"

A cold, provocative half-smile curved Liam's lips.

"Maybe for you. Not for me."

He stood, ignoring his father and stepmother, and turned to his grandfather.

"Excuse me. I need to speak to you in private, Grandpa."

Frederick gave a brief nod, granting permission.

-

That night, far from the mansion, Liam parked in front of the luxury building where his girlfriend Barbara lived. She was a famous model who was cold and calculating. She welcomed him with a practiced smile, her pale eyes shining more with ambition than affection. Her slim body was wrapped in a silk robe that barely covered her legs.

"You look exhausted, love," she said, closing the door behind him.

Liam dropped onto the couch, loosening his tie. Barbara stepped up behind him, sliding her firm hands over his shoulders, beginning a slow massage.

"You're tense… very tense," she whispered in a sultry voice, brushing her lips against his ear.

He closed his eyes and let out a frustrated sigh.

"My grandfather won't back down about this marriage thing."

"And you're not going to accept it," she replied confidently, her fingers gliding down his chest. "But I have a solution."

He opened his eyes, suspicious, studying her face.

"A solution?" he repeated coolly, already knowing there probably wasn't one.

Barbara walked around the couch and sat beside him, her gaze cold and calculating.

"A contract marriage," she said casually. "A woman chosen just for that. She'll be a surrogate."

Liam raised an eyebrow, incredulous.

"A surrogate?" His voice was sharp. "I came here to relax, not to listen to this. I don't want to be a father, much less get married."

"I can't have children right now, Liam. You know that," she said with a practiced sigh. "My tubes are blocked. And besides, I don't want to ruin my body or hurt my career. But you can meet your grandfather's demands. You marry someone else. Pretend to have the perfect relationship. Have the heir. After a year, you divorce. Then we get married, no problems with your grandfather. We hire a great nanny. And live happily. Don't forget—my eggs are frozen."

Liam stared at her with his green eyes for several long seconds, his jaw tight. Then he grabbed her arm and pulled her between his legs.

"This conversation ends here," he said quietly, firmly. "I don't want to hear another word about it. Now make me forget."

Barbara smiled, satisfied, pleased to see him surrender in another way. She slowly knelt, unbuttoning his pants with practiced hands.

"I've missed you… my handsome dark-haired man," she murmured, looking up at him, her tongue brushing her lips. "I'll calm you down the way you like."

He leaned back against the couch, his muscles relaxing, lost in sensation.

They gave themselves over to raw pleasure, without love. Only his escape, and her manipulation.